


The Affair of the Mysterious Travellers

by dog_mu, mphelmsman



Series: Shattered Sky [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Other, Post-Reichenbach, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-14 08:45:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8006221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dog_mu/pseuds/dog_mu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mphelmsman/pseuds/mphelmsman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes and Watson meet some mysterious people in the course of an investigation, and discover whole new worlds of possibilities.<br/>This is set in the same multiverse as the Shattered Sky series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watson begins the story

I hesitate to set these events down on paper, and certainly do not intend to make them public. If I did, I would be accused of writing fantastical literature, and, if I were to insist that they actually occurred, I would be suspected of insanity. Nonetheless, I feel compelled to make this record, in case I ever wish to reveal these events to some worthy soul.

 

The title I have attached to this account, “The Affair of the Mysterious Travelers”, barely scratches the surface of the people thus described. Mysterious they certainly are, and as travelers they far exceed any others I have ever encountered or read of. As inadequate as this title is, it will have to suffice. Perhaps I will think of a better while I write.

 

The best place to begin is in July of 1894.  Holmes had returned to London three months before.  I had sold my practice in Kensington, and moved back into our old lodgings at 221B Baker Street.  We were investigating several cases of stolen secrets, either sold to foreign agents or interested businessmen, or used to blackmail important people in the government. Holmes and I had traced the thefts to the Chinese district in London, done by someone relatively new to that hive of crime, someone with incredibly effective means of finding secrets, no matter how well hidden.  Unlike the late, unlamented blackmailer Charles Augustus Howell, this person did not buy incriminating documents from servants or disgruntled lovers, and seemed more interested in continuing to receive money rather than ruining his victims.

 

On this particular Thursday evening, Holmes and I were lounging, disguised as laborers, he smoking a pipe, I with a bandage around an ankle and a stick propped next to me, on a bench near Chinatown, watching for the arrival of a mid-level enforcer who was connected to the perpetrators of these thefts, when we saw someone as out of place as we would be in our normal appearance. A tall, well-formed woman in a dove gray dress, suitable for a middle class wife, carrying an umbrella and a large purse, proceeded down the street, followed by a Chinese boy, a head shorter, probably in his late teens, walking with his hands in his sleeves and his head down but his eyes sweeping the surroundings.

 

"Are those two related to our case, do you think?" I asked Holmes in a whisper.

 

Holmes studied the pair for a moment. "They are even more unusual than they seem. The lady is far more alert than she looks, and the 'boy' is not a boy at all, but rather a woman, and is not Chinese, but Japanese. " He glanced at me with a sly smile playing on his lips.

 

I stared at him in astonishment for a moment. “How on Earth can you tell that, Holmes?”

 

“Her movements and balance, even disguised, are characteristic of a woman who grew up wearing a kimono: the small steps with knees close together and feet slightly pigeon-toed.  As to her origin, her features have the shape of the typical Japanese face, not the Chinese.  She _might_ be Korean, but combined with a kimono-wearing background, Japanese is far more likely.”

I looked back at the women. I still could not see the 'boy' as a woman, but was willing to believe Holmes’ deductions. We watched them move out of sight, along with most of the men idling on the street, then Holmes pushed himself away from the bench and turned back the way the pair had come from. I would have been surprised at this, had I not known that Holmes had mapped all the streets of London within his extraordinary brain and wandered extensively to keep it up to date.  I knew he was planning a roundabout route designed to disguise that we were following them.

 

After a few minutes of hurrying along side streets, we were privy to the sight of the two women surreptitiously stepping into an alleyway. Only Holmes’ preternatural alertness and stealth prevented them from spotting us. We quickly moved to the mouth of the alleyway, and were in time to see them suddenly surrounded by several Chinamen, all armed with knives or moving in the strange patterns of the Oriental martial arts. Before we could enter the alley, the tall woman in the dove dress pressed a catch on her umbrella, drew a blade from its handle, and lifted the opened umbrella as a shield. Her Oriental companion spun to face the attackers behind them, moving smoothly into a stance that inspired Holmes to mutter "Aikido _and_ jujitsu?" As we ran towards them, she dodged one attacker and flung another ten feet. Strangely enough, now that she was fighting, I could now clearly see her femininity.

 

The next few moments were filled with violent action. The tall woman parried one swing with her blade and another with her shield, then slashed two opponents, one of whom fell to the ground.

 

Holmes caught two Chinamen from behind, felling them quickly with precise blows from his open hands.  I lifted my cane and struck another, the hidden lead filling increasing the power of the strike. More attackers poured out of a door, threatening to overwhelm us. I drew my revolver and fired at someone aiming a throwing knife at the Japanese woman's back.

 

She and the tall woman began to work their way through the attackers towards us. The Chinese began to scatter, dragging the dead and injured with them. As the women reached us, we heard shouts in the distance.

 

"I suggest we retreat to a safe place where we can talk, " Holmes said. The tall woman gave him a questioning look. He continued "I am Sherlock Holmes and this is Doctor Watson."

 

"Of course," the tall woman replied. She wiped the blade of her sword and slid it back into the shaft of the umbrella. Astonished, I watched her and the Japanese woman quickly and silently examine each other for signs of battle damage. Obviously they were old campaigners, though where they had gotten this experience I couldn't imagine for a moment. Then I realized that they must be spies, probably for a foreign government anxious to prevent more leakage of secrets.

 

We quickly and stealthily moved through the streets to where Holmes and I had stashed some clothes suitable to better parts of London, and it was only a moment's work before we appeared to be a middle-class couple accompanied by a friend and a servant.

 

The tall woman introduced them as Carolyn Jackson and Akane Akahira. Holmes and Miss Jackson chatted amiably about recent events in London, while Miss Akahira and I followed behind.

 

"How long have you been in London, Miss Akahira?" I asked.

 

“Only a few days,” she replied in a murmur.  I started to tell her to speak up, then realized that anyone hearing her voice would be instantly apprised of her true gender. I glanced sidelong at her, unable now to see her as the Chinese boy I had initially mistaken her for.  “Thank you for your help back there.  We didn’t expect such a violent reaction from the locals,” she continued.

 

“Perhaps they were warned about you?”

 

She considered this for a moment.  “That’s possible.  It’s more likely we underestimated how paranoid our target is.”  At my expression of confusion, she clarified, “General suspicion that someone is searching for him could account for it.”  Listening to her response, I realized that she spoke English, not with any English accent, but with an accent I couldn’t immediately identify; New York possibly.  Unfortunately, I quickly ran out of questions that I thought she would answer and we lapsed into silence the rest of the way to 221B Baker Street.

 

On our arrival, we were greeted by Mrs. Hudson.  “I’ve got a cold collation I’ll bring up, enough for you and your guests, and tea will be ready in a few minutes.”  I thanked her and she turned and headed back to the kitchen.

 

In our rooms the we sat,Holmes and I in our accustomed chairs, the ladies on the couch.  “Now, shall we be honest with each other?  I can tell you’re not actually a Londoner, Miss Jackson, so what are you doing in our fair country?”  Holmes asked, with a raised eyebrow.

 

Miss Jackson grinned saucily and replied in an American accent.  “I know my London accent isn't perfect, but it fools most people.” I agreed with this, since I had been among those deceived by her speech; this reinforced my opinion of her occupation.  “Given that you were in disguise near Chinatown to help us with that ambush, I suspect that you might be after the same person we are. He is using advanced technology to listen in on people secretly.” She paused and raised an eyebrow at Holmes.

 

Holmes smiled. “And would this person then be selling secrets and blackmailing?”

 

Miss Jackson nodded. “That's definitely his style. Our detection devices indicated that he is somewhere in Chinatown.  We can locate his equipment more precisely once we're closer.”

 

Holmes mused. “These eavesdropping devices and your locater use the recently discovered electromagnetic waves, no doubt?” I looked at Holmes in astonishment. “I _do_ keep up with scientific literature, Doctor, when it might be relevant to my activities.” I forbore to answer this, as I had no idea what he was talking about, but Miss Jackson did not labor under any such handicap.

 

“Precisely,  Mr. Holmes. It is our job to locate him, retrieve or destroy his equipment, and remove him so he doesn't cause more trouble.”

 

“Then we can join forces and serve both our purposes. The secrets he has already found out have caused considerable damage to public and private interests.” Holmes leaned towards her.  “How close would you have to be before you can locate his devices?”

 

“Depending on how much interfering metal there is around them, between two hundred and one thousand feet. Since he would want somewhere he could receive well, probably five hundred feet.”

 

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of Mrs Hudson with the cold collation. Miss Jackson looked at the food with longing, and said in her psuedo-London accent, “That looks lovely, Mrs. Hudson.  We’re totally famished.”

 

Mrs. Hudson smiled and replied “I’ll be up with the tea in just a moment, and if this isn’t enough, I can bring up some more.”

 

I looked at Miss Jackson with surprise.  “You know Mrs. Hudson’s name?”

 

“I’ve read all your stories.  I was quite enamored of them when I was a child.”

 

I laughed. “You make me feel practically ancient, Miss Jackson!” Privately, I wondered about her phrase _when I was a child_ , since she seemed to be in her late twenties, making her about 20, or 18 at the youngest, when our first story was published in 1887.

 

“Well, perhaps I exaggerate the ‘child’ part, but I have read all of your published stories.”  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a minute change in Holmes’ expression, indicating that he had observed and deduced something that I had missed, and I made a mental note to ask him later. “Anyway, we need to decide how we're going to do this.”

 

“Fortunately, I have a fairly complete map of that part of Chinatown.” Holmes answered, rising to retrieve a box from a shelf.  With the map spread out on the table between us, surrounded by tea cups and plates of meat and cheeses, we worked out our plan of attack, to be carried out the following night. This would give us enough time to get a night’s worth of sleep, and allow Miss Jackson and Miss Akahira to retrieve all the equipment they needed for the expedition.  Their detectors would allow them to point the way towards the eavesdropping equipment, and both Miss Jackson and Miss Akahira were accomplished at lockpicking and well-supplied with tools, so between them and Holmes, entry would present no problem.  Most startling to me was the fact that their arsenal included not only swords, knives, and pistols, but also explosives and incendiary bombs, the latter intended for the quick destruction of their target’s equipment.  Holmes took this in stride, though, and on second thought it seemed reasonable that whatever government was employing them would be willing to sanction collateral damage, perhaps even civilian casualties.  On raising this point with Miss Jackson, I was assured that she was expert in the use of these devices and knew how to limit their effect.

 

Our plan of attack made, the ladies returned to their lodgings by carriage to rest and prepare.  I retired to my bed to sleep, but tossed and turned quite some time from nervousness, while Holmes remained in the sitting room, playing his violin, doubtless considering deductions and possibilities for the coming action.

 

…

 

The following afternoon we rendezvoused with the ladies at a secluded spot near Chinatown.  They were dressed much as they had been the previous night, with the addition of a large package. They quickly removed their outer clothing to reveal close-fitting garments in shades of grey and dark brown,  well suited for skulking about in the dark.  The package opened to reveal a backpack for each, and several weapons. Miss Jackson had a slim sword resembling a rapier, two knives, and two small pistols tucked into her boots, as well as numerous pockets whose contents she did not reveal.  Miss Akahira was similarly armed, except that she lacked the sword and had several knives that looked suitable for throwing. They each had a box, two inches wide, one inch thick, and six inches long, with faintly glowing patterns visible on the upper face: these were the detectors Miss Jackson had mentioned. I wondered how their employers had concealed the development of this technology, and Holmes’ expression told me that he was considering the same point.

 

We silently crept through the streets towards Chinatown, approaching from a different direction than the ladies’ first attempt.  Whispered information from Miss Jackson let Holmes give instructions to stealthily reach a building, where we climbed to an upper window, which Holmes opened in an instant. I am ashamed to admit that I was the only one who had any problems with the climb.  Miss Akahira went up the wall like a lizard up a vine, as I guiltily admired her figure and movements in the unusual clothing.  I then followed, and finally Miss Jackson.  

 

We slipped inside, where Holmes proceeded to close the window and leave it apparently securely locked, but actually vulnerable to a well-placed lockpick or knife.  We skulked through dimly lit corridors, hearing faint voices in the distance. At a flight of stairs, the detectors indicated that the devices were on a lower floor, and we descended.  At the landing for the ground floor, we continued along a corridor.  We had travelled barely twenty feet when suddenly several doors opened, ahead and behind us, and at least a score of Chinamen rushed into the corridor, the nearest several of them carrying shotguns. Miss Jackson spun quickly and dodged into a door next to us, but it somehow closed before I could enter and was locked when I tried it.

 

A loud voice from behind the Chinamen wielding the shotguns said “The Big Boss, he want to see you. If you don't want to die now, you come with us.”

 

We looked at each other.  Holmes asked “We don't seem to have much choice.  Shall we go speak to the ‘Big Boss’?” Miss Akahira nodded slightly; she looked unworried by this turn of events.  I suspected that Miss Jackson was pursuing a different route to our target, and by his expression, so did Holmes. He turned back to the speaker. “Very well, shall we go?”

 

The men with the shotguns herded us down the corridor in the direction that we had planned to go.  We went through a door into a large room that was much warmer.  On the far side, I saw a jumble of strange devices, including what at first seemed to be a brightly illuminated picture of the corridor we had just left. Then I saw the figures of men _moving_ in it. I am ashamed to say that I stared for a moment,  initially missing the person sitting in a chair in front of the devices.

 

“You are the ‘Big Boss’, I presume?” said Holmes,  jerking my attention back to the person rising from the chair.  Surprisingly, he was not Oriental, but rather was a white man, very pale skinned, in fact, dressed in pants, a short sleeved shirt, suspenders, and spectacles with large round lenses. He peered at us, ignoring Holmes and me, and focused on Miss Akahira.

 

“Ha, didja think I’d have all this surveillance equipment and _not_ put some in my headquarters? Hey, I've heard of you, you're Akane Akahira, which means your pal that’s not caught yet is Carolyn Jackson, one of her, anyway.  As soon as she's caught, I'll have my people make you tell me what locals you've told about me, and I'll get rid of them, and you, and I'll go on milking this place until I get tired of it. Hah!” He snorted and chuckled at this description of his victory. His accent eluded me, like an American accent but with some other influence.

 

Miss Akahira stepped forward. “We haven't told any locals other than these two, and they're expendable.  You give us some gems and we'll bugger off and leave you to your scam, Barry.” She took another step closer, and spoke in a lower and friendlier tone. “Maybe we could even give you a little threesome before we go.”

 

He laughed.  “Naw, I got all sorts of Chinese girls to gimme anything I want.” I realized that this flirtatious behavior, though couched in language I didn't understand, was a means of distracting Barry while she got close. In the corner of my eye, I saw that Holmes had subtly tensed, ready to move. I kept my face blank to avoid giving this away.

 

Suddenly Miss Akahira lunged towards him, a slim knife in her hand. He stepped back, possibly to get out of  her reach. I leaped to attack one of the shotgun wielders, while Holmes struck at another. Out of nowhere, Miss Jackson was behind Barry, her sword stabbing into the back of his neck and emerging from the front.  Miss Akahira followed this with a slash across his throat.  In a single heartbeat, the situation had changed; instead of three prisoners menaced by four guns, now we were four combatants armed with two guns, a sword, and a knife, standing over the blood-spattered corpse of the leader.  The remaining Chinamen goggled at us for a moment, then turned and ran for the door. Before they could all get out the door, though, shotgun blasts from Holmes and me dropped the slowest three.  Shouts of alarm and confusion came from outside.

 

“We've got to blow this stuff and get out before someone gets brave,” said Miss Jackson. The ladies slung off their backpacks and began removing things.  I didn't recognize them as bombs, and didn’t have time to watch, as Holmes directed me to check the men lying on the floor, while he watched through the door. Two of them were already dead, and the third was bleeding freely. Then I turned to the ‘boss’, though I was sure he was at least mortally wounded. To my surprise, in addition to the wounds in his neck, there was a slash in his shirt, revealing a vest under it, made of a some gray material I didn't recognize, but which obviously had resisted the blow that had cut the shirt.  I ran my fingers over the vest, and found that it was thin and flexible; this was no substance that I knew of, not even in fiction.

 

I looked up at the ladies, intending to ask them about it, but saw them engaged in placing fist-sized packets on and around the blackmailer’s equipment, working quickly, confidently, and silently.  As I watched they finished, slid a few items back into their packs, and turned towards the door.

 

Miss Jackson said “Okay, I've rigged incendiaries to melt everything, then explosives to blow it into the basement and mostly extinguish any fire. We have five minutes to get out.” At Holmes’ directions, we ran through the corridor past the stairs we had descended, turned a corner,  and out an open door. As we exited, we saw several confused Chinamen standing nearby.  I shouted “Fire!” and Holmes followed this with something brief and agitated in Chinese.  Half of them immediately fled, the others ran towards a well nearby.  We didn’t remain to see the effects of our efforts, just calmly left the courtyard and blended into the shadows of the streets.

 

We snuck back to our cache of more usual clothes and quickly donned them. Shouts and running footsteps marked the location of our expedition, but there were no signs of a large fire. The ladies checked their detectors, and proclaimed the eavesdropping equipment completely non-functional.  We walked for a few minutes, then caught a cab back to Baker Street.

 

I could tell that Holmes had many answers to demand of the ladies, and once in our sitting room, he wasted no time.

 

“Confession time, Miss Jackson, Miss Akahira. The technology you and our blackmailer possess is far beyond what is _publicly_ known. There can be only one explanation for that.” Holmes paused for emphasis; they watched him silently.  “How far in the future have you come from?”

 

I stared at him in astonishment.  Was he suggesting that they were time travelers, such as H. G. Wells had written about?  It would explain a great deal about them.

 

Miss Jackson laughed. “Of course, you've seen enough to deduce that. I was born in America in 1961, and actually did read all the stories of Sherlock Holmes as a child. Akane was born in medieval Japan. The equipment that Barry had was stolen from a supplier in the Middle East in 2018.  Shall I go on?” She looked at us with a raised eyebrow.

 

I stared at them. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, about the future, about history,  Holmes, however had other questions.

 

“That is not all you are not telling us, Miss Jackson.” Holmes calmly responded.

 

This was completely incredible to me. “Wait, she has just admitted to being from the future, and _there is still more to tell_?!”

 

The ladies exchanged a glance, Miss Akahira’s expression conveying the sentiment ‘I told you’. Miss Jackson grimaced and sat down on the couch. “This is the complicated part. Have you ever read stories about ‘what would have happened if’, that describe a world where events happened differently?  Well, those worlds are real, you just can't see them normally. We're technically not _time_ travelers; we go to another version of reality in which the world is mostly the same, but more or less time has passed. In some ways it's even better than time travel, because there's no possibility of a grandfather paradox: what would happen if you travelled back in time to when your grandfather was a child and killed him?  I've never heard a clear answer to that. I'd rather just avoid the whole possibility.”

 

My mind reeled at the possibilities that this implied: not only could one visit any time in history or the future, but anything that _might_ have happened!

 

She continued. “I'm leaving out a huge amount of detail, of course. I don't understand everything about it, even though I've been world traveling for most of my life. Now, here's the other weird part. We don't use a machine to travel; I do it with my mind. There's other people who can do it, too; we call ourselves ‘worldswalkers’.  Each of us can travel and take others along.  We also have other psychic powers.”

 

Holmes smiled. “Ah, I wondered about how you got through that door, and how you appeared so suddenly behind our target.”

 

“Yes, I can teleport; that is, move instantaneously from one place to another without crossing the space in between.  I can also sense where objects are through walls, and I have a mental connection with Akane” she continued, taking Miss Akahira’s hand, “that lets us each know where the other is, and communicate silently.”

 

“And Miss Akahira?”

 

Miss Akahira smiled, and closed her hand around Miss Jackson’s. “No psychic powers for me, I'm just good at what I do.  Martial arts, knives, bows, guns, and a few other skills. I haven't been traveling near as long as Carolyn has.”

 

Holmes nodded. “Then you were not sent by a foreign government to stop our blackmailer, at least not of _this_ world.” This was not a question, but rather a statement, Holmes showing what he had deduced.

 

Miss Jackson shook her head. “No, there's a group of worldswalkers that try to keep others from causing too much trouble, especially if it would reveal us to local governments, or large numbers of people. In Barry’s case, he's not picky about who gets hurt or killed in the course of his schemes, so when killing him was the easiest way out, we took it.”

 

Holmes briefly considered his next question. “When you say ‘local’, you mean ‘of this world’ as opposed to another world, correct?”

 

“Right. That's general usage among worldswalkers, and among other groups that travel between worlds. And before you ask, I know of at least two organizations that extend over lots of worlds; you probably won't ever deal with either of them.  They're mostly concerned with larger problems. We don't like either of them, generally.”

 

When I considered what ‘larger problems’ might be to an organization that spanned multiple worlds, my imagination totally failed me. Holmes pursued another issue.

 

“When you say that worlds where things happened differently exist, does that mean there are other worlds where other versions of people here exist?”  This possibility had not occurred to me, but Holmes was ruthlessly running the logic to its ends.

 

“Lots of them.  I haven't personally met other versions of Holmeses and Watsons, but I've heard of them. Like you two, living and working in the late 19th and early 20th century, in worlds where technology or magic are much higher than here, or in the early 21st century.  There are worlds where you are fictitious, characters in stories written by Arthur Conan Doyle, or in later dramas based on his stories.”

 

Holmes looked at me in amusement. “I have often thought that the protagonists of Doyle’s stories were mostly fictitious, between your vagueness and Doyle’s ‘improvements’, Watson.”

 

I felt the need to defend myself from this accusation. “Doyle and I only do it to make for good stories, to keep the public interested. You know that, Holmes.”  The familiarity of this exchange somewhat restored my mind from the disorienting vistas that Miss Jackson’s words had opened.

 

Holmes smiled and turned back to the ladies; I saw that they had also been amused by this banter. “Which brings up something Barry said. ‘One of her, anyway.’ Does this mean that there are other versions of you wandering around infinity?”

 

“Just one other version. There seems to be some ‘exclusion principle’ that prevents there from being very many copies of a worldswalker.  I'm the only one I've ever heard of who has a worldswalker analogue. That's what we call different versions of people, by the way. She travels with a horse with human level intelligence, instead of an analogue of Akane. I've never met her, and don't want to. From what I've seen and heard, it's not a good idea for analogues to meet; they either don't get along, or get along all too well.”

 

Her tone suggested disturbing possibilities; both Holmes and I forbore to ask. “Why did he immediately dismiss Watson and I, and focus on Miss Akahira?”

 

“All worldswalkers can tell when someone is from another world that the one they’re on, and have some idea of where they’re from.  He could tell right away that you two are locals.  Dismissing you was just his prejudice.”  

 

“You mentioned magic.  What kind of magic?”

 

“There's all kinds, depending on the world.  Neither of us,” she said, lifting their still-joined hands, “were born on a world with significant magic, so it would be nearly impossible for us to learn to use it, even somewhere that it's usable. I've been to worlds where only trained scholars could use it, and worlds where it was taught to schoolchildren. There are a lot of worlds where magic is possible, but only a few people know about it.”

 

Holmes mused for a moment. “I have other questions, suggested by your answers, but I suspect that their answers would be extremely long.” He looked at me. “Well,  Watson, do you have any questions for the ladies?”

 

“Actually, I do have one. When I examined Barry’s body, he was wearing a thin grey vest that looked like it had resisted one of Miss Akahira’s strikes with her blade. What kind of material could do that?”  Holmes looked surprised at this; apparently he had missed this detail in the confusion of the fight.

 

“Probably a synthetic polymer, with metal fibers incorporated, or something even higher tech. We're wearing something similar under our stealth suits. It can stop blades and small caliber handguns. Ah, and speaking of which, we need to get back to our hotel and change. We could discuss this further tomorrow, if you're interested?” Her expression suggested that this was merely a pro-forma question, with the answer immediately obvious.

 

“I will look forward to it, indeed. Here would be best; fewest ears to hear something we wouldn't want overheard.”  We all rose, and Holmes and I shook both their hands. They descended the stairs; at the bottom we could hear Miss Jackson bidding Mrs. Hudson a cheerful good night.

 

Holmes and I spoke for a little while,  then I decided to write this account. Even now, with these pages in front of me, it seems fantastic, beyond anything ever written by Doyle, Wells, or Verne. Tomorrow, who knows what we might learn?


	2. Mycroft learns about the ladies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft hears about the ladies, and has his suspicions. Two brief interludes between action scenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter takes place between the two evenings of the previous chapter, the second shortly after the raid on the second evening.

When Watson awoke the morning after meeting Carolyn Jackson and Akane Akahira, Holmes was not in 221B, and Watson assumed he was out preparing for the coming night's expedition, or possibly checking on the ladies.  There was no telling when Holmes would be back, so Watson rang for breakfast and got dressed.

 

He was just finishing breakfast when a telegram from Mycroft Holmes arrived.  It was addressed to both Sherlock and him, and read “Please come to the Diogenes Club to report. M.”  Watson decided not to wait for Holmes; he scribbled a quick addendum on the note and left it where it would be seen.  A few minutes later, he was hailing a cab to meet with Mycroft.

 

On arrival, he was quickly ushered up to Mycroft’s office.  He knocked and entered.

 

“No Sherlock, eh? You can report in his stead, then, Doctor. How did your investigation go last night?” said Mycroft Holmes from his chair.  Privately Mycroft thought _up part of the night, it must have been exciting._

 

“We were watching for an enforcer in Chinatown.  We didn’t see him, but we did find something interesting, and some unexpected allies.”  Watson recounted the sighting of the ladies, following them to the ambush in the alley, their subsequent conversation, and the plan of attack.  “Oh, and there was one odd thing that Holmes especially noticed, when Miss Jackson said she had read my stories as a child, which would be impossible. She laughed it off as exaggeration, but Holmes deduced something from that; what I don't know.” He looked inquiringly at Mycroft.

 

Mycroft let none of his thoughts show on his face. _Fool Watson, assuming they're friendly just because you’re attracted to this ‘Akane’._ _Their technology is far too advanced for any Earthly origin. Alien spies, saboteurs, or adventurers; I desire none of them meddling on Earth._

 

Mycroft frowned. “She would have been briefed on Holmes and you, and probably got her dates mixed up between publication and the actual dates of occurrence. They are definitely spies, Doctor, and lying about their identities and pasts. I suggest you try to discover their allegiance and origin.  You might also learn what you can of the international situation from them.

 

“Her Majesty's intelligence agencies will be poised to move in and clean up after you carry out your raid tonight. We will probably collect many other criminals in the process; relatively minor, but something we can tell the public. I look forward to the conclusion of this matter.”

 

Watson was astonished. “Wait, I was given to think by your brother that you audit government accounts. How can you assure the actions of intelligence agencies?”

 

Mycroft laughed. “My brother has failed to inform you of my true position in the British government. I serve as a coordinator of activities and a correlator of information. If a minister needs everything known about a subject, I can tell which agencies have it, and where to look. In this case, the British government has considerable motivation to end the activities of this blackmailer.”

 

Watson nodded.  “It doesn't seem like the ladies are employed by a hostile power, but I will pass along your recommendations to Holmes.” He stood and left the room. _I shall have to reproach Holmes about this deception about his brother_ , he thought.

 

When he returned to their lodgings, Holmes was there, having a light breakfast, and reading the morning papers. “It seems that no word of our battle escaped Chinatown. There are vague reports of a shot being heard, but nothing solid. What did Mycroft have to say?” He cast the newspaper aside and gazed at Watson.

 

Watson sat in the other chair and repeated what he had heard.  Holmes listened to him, and deduced what Mycroft really thought.   _So he thinks the ladies are extraterrestrial aliens or in their pay.  How parochial of you, brother, time travel is a much better explanation. Further observation of them will be easy, provided John is not too distracted by Miss Akahira’s arse._

 

“Excellent advice, Watson! I have set my own inquiries in motion. I would definitely like to know the ladies’ origins myself.”

 

“Now, Holmes,” Watson began, “there's something I want to ask you about Mycroft, and what you've told me about him.”  The ensuing argument was vigorous, but finally Holmes succeeded in soothing Watson's ego over his lie of omission.

 

…

 

The following evening, a tired but exhilarated Sherlock dropped into the chair across from Mycroft, and began “I just had to tell you this right away.  It seems we were both wrong, brother, and both right.” Before Mycroft could ask what he meant, he launched into an account of the evening and the subsequent conversation with the ladies.

 

Mycroft stared at him in disbelief for a full minute and a half. “You're serious. This, this is completely bizarre.” He sat back in his chair. “It is reassuring in one way, if there are very few of these worldswalkers to show up and disrupt our lives.  What I don't find so reassuring is the mention of organizations, even if she thinks they won't interfere. There are too many dangerous possibilities, and too little information. Find out what you can, particularly about those organizations, these people’s travel power, and their other psychic powers. I'd rather not be surprised by any of this, and don't want the resources of a world-spanning agency focused on my England.”

 

Sherlock stood, and grinned at Mycroft.  “It may be some time before I report. We plan to ask Miss Jackson for a trip. It should be interesting.”

 

Mycroft covered his face with one hand. “Do try not to get yourself killed, Sherlock, or lost in some strange world. I would hate to have to explain that to Mother.”

 

As Sherlock turned towards the door, for an instant he thought he saw a shadowy figure by the window.   _Just a trick of the light,_ he thought, _time to go home and sleep.  Lots to do tomorrow, to prepare for our trip._


End file.
